


Extreme Ways

by Pegship



Category: Bourne Legacy (2012)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pegship/pseuds/Pegship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I was kind of hoping we were lost," Marta said.</p><p>Aaron smiled and rolled up the map.</p><p>"We can be lost," he said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song at the end of the film: "Extreme Ways" by Moby.

"I was kind of hoping we were lost," Marta said, but she looked pleasantly surprised when Aaron smiled and rolled up the map.

"We can be lost," he said, catching her meaning.

They sat, not saying anything for several minutes; Marta's hand crept over to touch his and he uncurled his fingers immediately, turning his palm up. Her hands were bruised and scratched and he raised one to his lips and pressed them to it, softly, first the backs of her fingers, then the inside of her wrist.

He opened his hand again, giving her a chance to withdraw. Instead she spread her fingers over his cheekbone and into his hair. A thumb stroked down his cheek and he smiled and just let her touch him.

No one had touched him in too damn long, not without injury being involved or intended. When Marta had wrapped her arms around him to get him up the stairs, when she'd helped him undress, when she'd soothed him with soft hands and cool water, he'd allowed himself to sink into her, knowing it would end when - if - he pulled through. He had had no intention of dragging her any further into his perilous flight.

"You've done enough for me," he'd said, and "You're a warrior."

Now she looked at him with an expression of curiosity and trust and he realized that it wasn't just up to him any more, this life.

He leaned in and kissed her, lightly, briefly, felt her arm go around his neck and her lips smile under his own.

"We can be lost," he whispered again.


	2. Chapter 2

The tiny room they'd borrowed from the youngest of the sailors had one narrow bunk; Marta slept on top of it and Aaron under it, at least the first two nights.

The third night, Marta had come in to go to bed and found Aaron sittiing cross-legged, barefoot and bare-chested, on the bunk with a book in his hand.

"Just warming it up for you," he said, rolling to his feet. "Here you go."

"No, you don't have to," said Marta, a bit incoherently. Aaron stood very still, in that way he had when making up his mind, usually faster than she could follow, then he put the battered book down on top of the pack.

"You want the air side, or the wall side?" he asked.

"Wall," she said immediately.

"Good, 'cause I like having an escape route," said Aaron, grinning.

"And I like not falling out," Marta told him. She lay down on her side, her back to the wall, and he turned off the bare lightbulb and lay down with his back to her, a wall of solid warmth. She leaned in slightly to rest her forehead against his skin and hoped he wouldn't mind.

"Go ahead."

Marta couldn't see anything in the pitch black of the cabin, but his voice was quietly amused.

"Snuggle up, Doc. I don't mind if you don't."

She should have known he wouldn't, after what they'd been through, the spaces they'd occupied and shared, the intimacy of his illness and her fear. Lying mostly clothed on a hard bunk wasn't awkward at all...particularly since she'd kissed him, just that once.

Marta let herself relax against his back, laid her cheek against his shoulder, he drew her arm around his waist like he had on the motorcycle, and they slept.


	3. Chapter 3

Far from lounging in the sun, they'd both pitched in with the usual duties of a fishing crew. Marta's palms were bruised and abraded and Aaron was sunburned across his shoulders.

"If you're doing this on purpose, I have to tell you, you'll never pass for anything but Caucasian," said Marta one night, applying cream sparingly to his back. His physical enhancement meant that he recovered quickly from such minor pains; still, she cringed every time she had to touch his reddened skin.

He laughed. "Nah, I just didn't bother to put a shirt on."

"Funny, I never have that problem." She put the cap back on the ointment and said, "I'll sleep on the floor - you shouldn't have me bumping against that burn all night."

"You don't have to," said Aaron. "Here, lie down."

Marta lay down in her usual spot, Aaron turned out the light as usual, and she felt rather than saw him settle carefully on the bunk, facing her this time.

"See? You can face either way, however you're comfortable," he said. His arms were curled against his chest and she could feel his breath on her forehead. If she tilted her head just a little his lips would be touching her...

Marta made a sound like an abortive laugh; what was she thinking? _Not now,_ she told herself. _When this is over - if it's ever over - when we have time to catch our breath -_

Then his lips were pressed against her face and his arms were around her, and he was murmuring, "Shh, it's okay," and she realized there were tears trickling from her eyes and some kind of silent sob trying to escape her chest.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I don't know what - "

She had no idea how to end that sentence. Aaron didn't seem to mind.

"Here, turn over," he said gently, guiding her to lie with her back against him, and he put his arms around her again and sighed into her hair. Marta breathed deeply, trying to calm down and wondering what the hell he must think of her.

She felt him kiss the back of her head; she lifted his hand to her lips, kissed it lightly, and laid it back down.


	4. Chapter 4

The island where they landed was one of the little resort areas common to the western sea, as far west as the captain was willing to travel.

Aaron took Marta's hand and they left the dock without looking back.

"Paulo said the places around here are all small, mostly family run, off the grid. For people who want to really get away from it all," he said. "We won't be here long. They'll expect us to go to ground and try to wait them out, so we'll keep moving, try not to leave too much of a trail."

They found a place that rented bungalows near a beach, running water and electricity, no television, no internet, cash only. Aaron paid for one night in Philippine pesos and signed them in as Aaron and Maria Cross.

He'd explained before that using a name that sounded like her own would be easier than grafting June onto it, though she'd still be June Marie Monroe if they needed to use the bogus paperwork.

Their lodging was one tiny room with an adjoining bathroom, and Marta got clean clothes out of the pack while Aaron moved around, checking locks and windows and possible escape routes. When she came out of the bathroom, Aaron was nowhere to be seen, so she went out on the wooden porch that faced the beach.

Through the handful of trees providing shade for the cabin she saw Aaron, standing in the surf up to his waist with his face turned up to the sun, his back to her. She watched him duck underwater; he rode a wave into shore, stood up and shook himself like a dog, then started to walk back to the cabin. Marta noticed two things then: his shorts were hung over the tiny porch railing, and he was stark naked.

When he got close she could see that he was watching her with a bit of a smile on his face.

"Enjoying the view?" he called.

"I've seen it before," said Marta. Not like that, she told herself, but what she said was, "Let me look at those flesh wounds again. Salt water isn't going to do them any good."

Aaron came to a halt on the porch, standing with his hands on his hips as she inspected the wound on his shoulder, then bent to look at the one on his hip. True to the program, it was healing quickly and cleanly, still an angry red welt but already closing up.

"All right," she said, straightening up. "It looks all right, but you really should put a dressing on it so your clothes don't rub it raw again."

She looked up and felt suddenly foolish. After everything he'd survived, all the stress and injuries she'd recorded once upon a time, all the times he'd dealt with his own wounds, this was nothing. He didn't need her to be a mother hen.

"Then again, in a couple of days it won't matter," she said lightly and turned to go inside.

"It matters to you," she heard Aaron say quietly. Turning back, she saw a glimpse of his face, no longer smiling, before he tugged his shorts back on. He straightened and said, "It's who you are."

"A scientist," said Marta.

"A healer," he countered.

She hadn't thought of herself as such in so long, living in the realm of white coats and test tubes. She remembered the bitterness in his voice when she'd said, _We don't make policy_ , and he'd snapped, _no, you just load the gun_.

"Is that why you came looking for me?" she asked, struck by the memory. "You thought I could - heal you?"

Aaron turned to look out to sea, in profile to her.

"In that place," he said, and she knew he was talking about the lab, "I was told where to go, what to do, which room to wait in, I followed orders, no problem. You were the only person who talked to me like I was human, you were fascinated by your work, I could tell. You were - alive."

Marta recalled the last time she'd seen him there, his eyelids drooping as he went under the anesthesia.

"What did you say, that last time?" she said. "I told you to count backward from a hundred, and you said something I didn't catch. Was it Russian?"

"Czech," Aaron said. His eyes met hers and he added, "I said, 'You're so beautiful.'"

Marta wasn't sure what to do with that information. Aaron went on simply, "When I saw the story about the shooting at the lab, I knew that I wasn't the only one they wanted dead. I decided that you and I had a common goal, to escape being killed by whoever runs the program."

"And you thought I had chems," Marta pointed out, without rancor.

"I figured that if you didn't have them you'd know where to get them," he replied. "You did me one better. You freed me from them, forever, I hope."

Following an impulse, she went over to stand beside him, slipping an arm around his waist as they looked out over the sand. He was warm and solid and his arm curled unhesitatingly around her shoulders.

"I hope so, too," she said.

She lay her head on his shoulder and felt him kiss the top of it.

"You smell nice," he said.

They stood there for several minutes, then she said, "I'm hungry. Are you hungry?"

"Let's see if we can find a steak."


	5. Chapter 5

They found an eatery a mile from their inn, apparently frequented more by hospitality staff than travelers; the place was crowded and friendly, and the food was plain and good.

On the walk back, Marta's legs felt heavy and she kept stumbling against Aaron, who took hold of her hand.

"I guess all the running's catching up with me," she said apologetically. "I'm not usually this unsteady."

"Not a problem. I've got you."

He does, she thought, and then she worried whether that was a problem, whether he'd be better off on his own without her tagging along. Then she wondered how she'd ever survive without him at this point, at any point since she burned down her own house. Then she wondered what the hell they'd been drinking with their dinner.

"It's called _lambanóg_ ," said Aaron when she asked. "Distilled from coconut plants. I asked a guy at the bar."

"Strong stuff," said Marta.

"You're not going to be sick, are you?" He sounded more resigned than alarmed; that was Aaron all over.

"Of course not," Marta retorted. "I have an iron stomach. It's my head that's feeling kind of - flimsy."

He laughed in the darkness.

They got back to their room safely; Aaron turned on the light and spent several minutes checking for signs of intrusion by humans or wildlife as Marta stood swaying in the middle of the room. Once he was satisfied, he doused all the lights and came over to her.

"Why aren't you in bed yet?" he asked gently. "Come on."

He picked her up easily and lay her down on the bed, the first real bed she'd lain on since before Manila. She kicked off her sandals, lay on her back and stretched, listening to Aaron moving around. Through half-open eyelids she could make out his form in the moonlight; when he came over to the bed she managed to say, "Don't even think about sleeping on the floor."

The last sound she heard, before falling deeply asleep, was him chuckling in her ear, and the last thing she felt was his arms pulling her close.

*

Marta woke, slowly, reluctant to let go of the comfort of being safe and rested. And - in Aaron's arms. From what she could feel and hear, with her head on his chest, she guessed he was still asleep. His right arm was wrapped around her, his left lying on his hip, on top of the sheet that covered them both.

She was not surprised - she hadn't forgotten any of last night's conversation or actions - but even as she smiled and sighed she wondered whether she should do anything about this handsome, sleeping man.

Aaron sighed and grumbled and turned toward Marta, apparently still asleep, mashing his face into the pillow and her hair and throwing his other arm around her. He was on his side now and she tipped onto her back to get a little breathing space.

Aaron's arm tightened around her waist, pulling her close. His subconscious still thinks we're on the boat, crammed into that little bunk, she thought, amused. She turned her back to him inside the circle of his arm, lay her head on his outstretched arm, and drifted back into sleep.

Marta woke again, shortly thereafter, this time stirred by a need to use the bathroom. She slid out from under Aaron's arm and the leg he'd thrown over hers, used the facilities, and then opened the bathroom doorway and stood there, looking at the man in the bed.

She was trying to prepare herself for the probability that anything she and Aaron had now was as temporary as those fake identities he concocted. She couldn't keep herself from caring about him - there, she admitted it, if only to herself - if she could only stay in the present. One day - one night, at a time.

All they had now was each other.

Aaron had turned over to lie on his side with his back to the bathroom; he wore only his cargo shorts, and the sheet had slipped down to tangle with his legs. She padded over and eased down behind him, curling her arms against his back and fitting her hips and legs to his. Either this woke him, or he was already awake, because his hand reached back for hers and he pulled it around and kissed her fingers.

Marta turned her head to press her lips to his skin, the back of his neck, the top of his spine.

"Aaron," she whispered.

He squeezed her hand and let go, turned over to face her with those sleepy eyes. He'd never been more beautiful than at this moment, when the corner of his mouth lifted in a slow smile, his hair sticking up in every direction, and his eyes looking only at her.

He bent his head and his lips met hers, gently, easily. The mouth that she'd seen compressed with anger, set with concentration, twisted with pain, and only occasionally curved into a smile, was shaping itself to her own.

Marta hadn't been kissed like this for months. The soft brush of lips they'd exchanged before were simply a tantalizing promise, one that Aaron was now delivering on with his typical intensity of focus. She felt almost as dizzy as last night after the _lambanóg_ ; the thought made her smile even as the kiss deepened.

Aaron made an inquiring sound without releasing her mouth, and Marta made a sound which she hoped indicated that he should go on with what he was doing. He did so, and by the time they parted Marta was breathing quickly, and Aaron's hand was on her hip.

"We can't," he said, very softly. "Not yet. Not here."

"Not yet," she echoed. "I know. But - "

His arms gathered her against his chest.

"I know," he said.


	6. Chapter 6

Aaron went down to the docks; Marta for a swim and, having changed out of her wet shorts and t-shirt, was toweling off her hair, outside in the shade under the trees. 

Now she saw him walking toward her on the path and she smiled, but he looked less than happy.

"Been looking for boats headed west," he said briefly. "Nobody's going our way, not today, at any rate. I'll go back this evening - I got a couple of names."

"Have you eaten yet?" Marta asked, more concerned with immediate matters.

"Had something at the market," said Aaron. "Here, I brought you something."

Of all things, he had found a jar of peanut butter - or something like it - and a loaf of bread, along with some fruit.

"Survival rations," she grinned. "I'll have some in a bit. I'm trying to work the knots out of my hair."

"Here," he said, motioning for her to sit. She did so, puzzled, but as she opened her mouth to ask why she felt his fingers in her hair, carefully teasing out knots and smoothing out strands.

"I guess I should cut it short," she said with regret. "Lower maintenance, easier to hide it under something."

"Don't feel like you have to," said Aaron easily. "Hair can be useful as part of a disguise. And sometimes it's the little things like that that are important to you, to remind you who you are."

What does he have, to remind him? Marta thought. She tried to imagine becoming someone other than who she'd been born as, not just temporarily, but committing to that change for the rest of her life. Not just her name, but her profession, her home, even her family...

"Do you have any family, anywhere?" she blurted out. Aaron's fingers paused, then resumed their delicate work.

"Nope," he replied. "I was in a state home for most of my life, before I joined the Army. They told me I was an orphan, and that was good enough for me. The people I got to know there, they were my family."

He knew she had a sister; she hoped for the best, that whoever was chasing them would leave her family alone, what little she had.

"And in the Army," he went on, "it wasn't really like having a family. More like - well, I don't know. Like a pack of wolves, I guess. Everybody knew their job and their place and who the top dogs were."

"What happened?" Marta asked softly. "To Kenneth Kitsom, I mean."

This time, Aaron's hands stopped working and he came around to stand leaning on the doorpost, glancing at her from time to time as he spoke.

"Private Kitsom really was in a Humvee that was destroyed by an IED. The other three guys in it - two were killed instantly and one bled out while we were waiting for backup. I was pretty bashed up, from broken ribs to head wounds to having burns and shrapnel over a lot of my lower body.

"I woke up in a medical facility that didn't feel like a hospital. Full of officers and medics - and not very many grunts like me. Later I figured out what it reminded me of: a lab. Complete with rats. Including me."

"What did they do to you?" Marta wasn't sure she really wanted to know - but she had to know.

"They patched me up," Aaron replied, tonelessly. "Got me sitting up and off any meds that would mess with my mental processes - such as they were. One day I was sitting in a room by myself, was told I'd be getting a visit from somebody really important, somebody who would decide what would happen to me.

"This man came in, in a regular suit and tie, and I couldn't tell what his rank was so I called him sir. He sat down and asked me things, like where I was from. All I could think about was whether I was going to get sent back to Berwin, to the home, or to some other place where I'd be of no use.

"So I asked the man, is this a test? If I pass, can I stay here?"

For some reason that tore at Marta's heart and she closed her eyes and clasped her hands together, tightly.

"I don't remember what he told me," Aaron finished up. "But they let me stay."


	7. Chapter 7

Aaron came over and knelt in front of where she sat, pulling her grip loose and taking her hands in his. Marta opened her eyes and saw his steady gaze through tears in her own eyes; she reached for him and he leaned into her embrace.

"What?" he said softly. "What is it, what's wrong?"

 _He really doesn't know_ , she thought. She held him more tightly and took a few deep breaths.

"I didn't know," she said. "I mean, I knew the program, the chems, what they were designed to do. I knew they were testing them on humans - that was the whole point - but I thought, I understood that the subjects had volunteered. That informed consent had been obtained."

He leaned back to stare into her eyes for a minute, as if he were trying to understand.

"I can't speak for any of the others," he said at last. "Kenny - I - wasn't smart enough to understand what the program involved, how drastically it would change my life. All I knew was that it would make me stronger, smarter, a better soldier. And not that the end justifies the means, but Marta, honestly, I didn't have much to lose."

Marta shook her head vehemently. "Even if you came out the other end, here, with improved abilities and intelligence - what if you hadn't? What if you had died in the process? You said you almost did, when you were viraled off the greens."

She couldn't stop the words, now that she was able to voice her fears.

"It isn't right, what they did to you, not when they didn't make you understand the real potential, the scenario where you might not live through it. You said I just loaded the gun - this is like telling a man the gun isn't loaded and won't hurt him if he points it at his head and pulls the trigger, when you know there's at least one round still in it. And then - you watch him pull that trigger, and if he dies you just get another 'subject' to play with. Maybe that's what happened to the three who went off the program..."

"Marta - "

"Aaron, don't you understand? I'm appalled to find out how my work was used. Might still be used, for all I know."

She knew she sounded hysterical; there were tears on her cheeks. She felt like the past days and weeks were all crashing down on her head at once, the horror at what had happened crowding out her relief at having survived.

Aaron's hands gripped her arms like a vise and he shook her sharply.

"Listen to me," he said fiercely. "You didn't know. You were there for the science, remember? I was there for the training. Neither of us knew what was going on at the other end, or in the middle. It's not your fault, or my fault. Understand?"

Marta gulped in a breath and nodded. She felt like she was back in her house, listening to gunfire and being confronted by this man, whom she'd barely known and who'd been snapping out instructions to her.

"All that matters," Aaron was saying, "is what we do with who we are right now, what we go on to do. Right?"

She had stopped sobbing and gone slack in his hold, her eyes on his, still feeling drained and depressed but trusting him, her guide.

"Right," he answered for her, and he didn't quite smile, but his face relaxed as he pulled her into another embrace.


	8. Chapter 8

There were no ships that would accommodate their journey the next day, either. Marta was getting antsy staying close to the cabin, so she went down to the docks with Aaron but kept out of sight.

"They'll be looking for both of us," said Aaron. So she sat in the shade of a stack of crates with her water bottle, watching him appear and disappear between crowds of workers and dock personnel.

She kept her eyes moving, trying to be alert and yet look casual. No one seemed to take note of her, but then she hadn't suspected anyone in Manila, either. Or at the lab. Or in her own damn house. She shook her head, tried to think about something else, like where they might go from here. Or whether they might end up staying here.

Whether she'd ever see the inside of a lab again.

Whether that would be such a bad thing, if she didn't.

Later, after they'd heard some rumors and leads and advice, she and Aaron walked back to their cabin, in comfortable silence, more groceries in a canvas bag slung over her shoulder. 

"What if we don't find a boat?" Marta asked as they walked. She wasn't usually one to indulge in what-ifs, but Aaron took the question at face value.

"We find another port and try again," he replied. "Or we could find a place in one of the larger cities for a while."

"To what end?" she said. "I mean - do you have a long-term plan, as to where you want to go?"

"Well, it's better not to be limited by geography," he said. "If we can get to a larger land mass, it'll be easier to move around. More options - more places to hide."

He reached over and took her hand as they walked, like it was something he did every day - and come to think of it, Marta remembered a number of times he'd held her hand, however briefly or wordlessly. 

They'd be walking somewhere, ensconced in a crowd of tourists or in a market, and Aaron would reach for her without looking. He always seemed to know right where she was, and Marta always took his hand immediately. At first it was to keep together as they wound their way through a situation, but now it felt more like a comfort than a necessity.

She squeezed his hand a little and he smiled at her as they walked on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a snippet; hope it will do for now!


	9. Chapter 9

Marta thought she was a fairly patient person, in general. Science could not be rushed, and she'd cultivated the ability to wait and observe. Unfortunately, in her previous life she'd had plenty to do while she waited, and now - now there was nothing. Nothing but time.

She didn't begrudge Aaron his forays into the town; she often accompanied him, just for a change of scene. She could hardly complain, when she knew his mind was working away a mile a minute, listing, considering, discarding options.

Days went by with no news of pursuit - good - but also with no opportunity to move on - not so good. One day, Aaron left the cabin before dawn and Marta couldn't see a reason to get out of bed. She lay dozing, staring out the window, getting up for a snack or the bathroom, then burrowing into her nest again, letting her mind wander and sinking further into lethargy.

Just before sunset, she heard Aaron whistling, something he did when approaching the cabin so she'd know it was him. He stepped inside the dim room and halted, his eyes scanning quickly around and finally finding Marta where she lay under the covers.

"Doc," he said. Dropping the bag he carried, he came over to sit on the bed beside her. "Hey, Doc, you okay?"

"I guess."

His palm lay briefly on her forehead and he said, "Are you sick?"

"Not that I know of."

He got up and lit a lamp, then came back to study her face in the light.

"Have you been out of bed today, at all?" he asked and she shook her head. "Why not?"

"Didn't see the point." She wasn't trying to be petulant or needy. She wouldn't mess with him in that way. She was only telling him the bald truth.

Aaron's face took on the stubborn look he got when he was thwarted or couldn't accept the information he was getting. Just like the day they met - "You can't be that naive!" - and Marta couldn't bear him turning that look on her.

She turned over and hid her face in the pillow, not weeping, but exhausted, unable to escape and unable to explain herself.

"Hey..." Aaron's voice was as frustrated as his expression, but he didn't touch her. "Marta, what's going on? Did something happen?"

"No!" For the first time that day, she found the energy to raise her voice. Sitting up, she looked him dead in the eyes and said vehemently, "No. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Not one damn thing."

Aaron stared back at her for a minute and she felt herself subsiding into apathy again.

"Yeah," he said at last. "I know."

"Do you," she said without rancor. "At least you have something to do. You have plans and ideas and thoughts and questions. And I - I have nothing. I'm in limbo, and I hate it. I can't tell you how much I hate it."

"I believe it." His expression was almost sorrowful. "I believe you, and I'm sorry. I wish I knew how to get us both out of this holding pattern. I'm working on it."

"I need something to work on, too," said Marta, not very hopeful. "Or at least, to know what the possibilities are. What's in your head, what you know that I don't. I need to be useful, Aaron, I can't be the damsel in distress."

"You're not," he insisted. "You're not," and then he was pulling her into his arms and just holding on to her. Marta heaved a deep sigh and sank into his embrace, and they sat for a while in silence.

"This is better," she murmured at last. "When you're here, when we're together. Just the fact that we're both alive and free - that helps. That you're still - with me."

She felt him nod and hoped she hadn't misspoken; the next moment he drew back to look at her and said, "You know I am, right? I'm not going to take off on my own and leave you to fend for yourself. We're in this together."

She recalled the dark night when he'd urged her to leave him. It had never been an option in her mind, whatever state he was in, and she didn't doubt him now.

"I know," she said gently. "I know you wouldn't. I'm not worried about that. And I don't want to rush whatever you think we should do next. I just - need to *know* what that is. Even if it's a plan we discard. I need to know."

"I'm used to being on my own," Aaron told her. "You know that. I'll try not to go all lone wolf on you, I promise. Keep reminding me, okay?"

"I can do that," Marta said, feeling lighter than she had all day.


	10. Chapter 10

Aaron sat slumped in a chair beside the bed Marta lay in. He’d been on high alert since she’d come down with something a couple of days ago, feverish, dehydrated, aching, unable to keep any food down.

The basic first aid and simple remedies of this area weren’t doing enough to treat her symptoms. Now it seemed all he could do was wait, watch, stand by. He’d done that before, many times, and he could go on doing that if need be.

Meanwhile, his mind was in constant motion, running through scenarios and probabilities, trying to factor in the unknown variable of Marta's illness, among other things. His experience with field medicine led him to believe that she'd come through it all right, but without knowing how long it might take, what resources they might need, whether she'd be physically compromised...

_“Seriously, man, you think too much.”_

Maybe.

For years now, the only other people who’d figured into his plans were people like himself, soldiers, agents, handlers. Possible collaborators, people he could brainstorm or at least negotiate with. People who spoke his language.

The few times he’d had the assistance of a civilian, he’d never told them what was really going on or his true identity. In his usual chameleon fashion, he’d managed to blend in with their idea of who he was. Hell, he had enough cash, IDs, and other props to become several different people.

He’d provided an alter ego for Marta Shearing, but that was as far as his contingency plans went. For her to become June Monroe convincingly on a long-term basis would take time and training. He was confident, though, that she had it in her; hadn’t they gotten this far, together?

Marta turned over in her sleep, muttering, and Aaron leaned in to smooth her forehead with his palm. Still too hot. She’d kicked off the covers so many times he’d quit pulling them back on. There was a breeze tonight, so he'd left the windows uncovered, hoping it would help cool her down. It wasn't time for another dose - not for a normal metabolism, though he could have taken it.

Aaron went into the tiny bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water run lukewarm, then went back to the bed. Briskly, he removed Marta's bra and panties - all she'd been wearing since she'd been staying in bed - then his own shorts. Lifting her easily, he took her into the shower with him, his back against the wall, keeping her head out of the direct spray.

She mumbled something against his shoulder, shuddering, but she didn't shrink from the water and she didn't seem to be in distress. Aaron just held her, changing positions to get water over most of her skin, and after several minutes he turned off the shower and took her back to the bed.

He dried her off, ran a towel over himself and lay down beside her, hoping they could both get some sleep.

* * *

There was a rushing sound, and the smell of salt water and trees, and something else, Marta thought, she couldn't quite identify. A warmth along one side of her, a welcome sensation after days of enduring her own waves of heat.

She opened her eyes. It looked to be near dawn, she saw through the open window, and shouldn't she be alarmed that the window had been left open? It took a great deal of strength for her to turn her head, which brought her face to face with the source of warmth.

Aaron, of course. He was fast asleep beside her, on his back, arms folded like a luge rider across his chest. She watched him breathe for a while before drifting back into sleep herself, reassured.

The next time she woke, Aaron was busy at something involving their pack and the sun was fully up. She cleared her throat and instantly his head turned toward her.

"Hey," he said, putting the pack down and coming to sit beside her. "How do you feel?"

"Stuffy," said Marta, trying to smile. "And hungry."

"I'll get you something."

She put her hand out before he could rise. "Aaron - what was it? How long was I out?"

"Four days, off and on," he told her, then added, "Hey, no, don't try to get up. I'll just have to pick you up off the floor again."

"Four days!"

"You were pretty sick," Aaron said. "Fever, pain, vomiting, the works. Fortunately, your body knew what to do - I just kept getting fluids and medicine in you and hoping they'd stay down."

She could barely recall those four days; they'd run together in a blur of delirium. She hadn't been that sick in a long time. If Aaron hadn't been here -

"Thank you," she said, fumbling to take his hand. She meant, for taking care of her, for staying, for not dropping her off at the first hospital he found and disappearing. It was too much for her to think, let alone say, and she closed her eyes.

  
"You are very welcome," she heard him murmur, felt his lips cool on her forehead before he moved away to get food.

After some tea and bread, she felt ready to sit up, propped by bedding, while Aaron sat in a chair, writing something on a pad.

 

"What are you working on?" she asked.

 

"Our next move. Debating which way to go, east or west."

 

She gave him an expectant look and he launched into a bare-bones summary of their options. Continue the search for passage westward to Asia; stay here, abandon the search, and settle in; look for passage eastward; look for passage south, to Malaysia or Indonesia.

 

"Or even Australia," said Aaron.

 

"Talk about wide open spaces," she remarked. "At least I'd know the language there. Less work for you, translating, I mean."

 

He nodded, his eyes on his notes.

 

"That's if we're to go on together," Marta said, trying for a light tone, and when he looked up at her she added, "Don't tell me you haven't considered splitting up."

 

She was recalling the night in Manila, when he'd urged her to leave, take the money and passports. Did he think he would die? Or was he willing to let her go and take the consequences on his own head? And yet -

 

"You came after me," she said softly. "In Manila, when the police were chasing us. It wasn't a coincidence, was it?"

 

Aaron's expression went from puzzled to relieved.

 

"It wasn't," he told her. "I heard you scream, and heard them coming, so I got out of there, and when I was on the rooftops I could hear which way the chase was going. Followed the noise."

 

He reached out to hold her hand. He could have left her behind at any time - with or without the money and the papers - could have taken off while she lay here delirious. Still could - but she knew he wouldn't.

 

He didn't even ask her about the seeming randomness of her question, just held her hand and said, "Sleep. I'm not going anywhere without you."


End file.
